


Thou Wanderer Thro' The Woods

by Thesongremainsthesame



Category: Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Supernatural, Torchwood, UFO | Gerry Anderson's UFO
Genre: F/F, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-06
Updated: 2014-07-06
Packaged: 2018-02-05 15:02:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1822702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thesongremainsthesame/pseuds/Thesongremainsthesame
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thou Wanderer Thro' The Woods-a line taken from William Wordsworth's "Lines Composed a Few Miles above Tintern Abbey"-tells the story of the half Time Lord-half human 13th Doctor and her subsequent journey through time, space, dimensions, and her human reincarnations. Joining her is Sherlock Holmes, John Watson, Mary Morstan, and the Winchester brothers. With the TARDIS, an Impala, and an overambitious consulting detective, this hodgepodge group just might manage to save the Universe from a terrible secret hidden since the beginning of Time itself...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thou Wanderer Thro' The Woods

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Doctor brings the inhabitants of 221B Baker Street to London in 1889, and they happen to run into none other than W.B. Yeats. This chapter is based on "The Adventure of the Engineer's Thumb" by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. This is my rendition of it.

The Doctor stops the TARDIS, pulls out her sonic screwdriver, twirls it around, and smirks at her two passengers. John is pale and breathing heavily; looking as if he is trying to will himself not to pass out. Sherlock, however, is a complete contrast. His face is flushed and his eyes are bright.

"Extraordinary." Sherlock remarks, and then points at her sonic screwdriver, "What exactly is that?"

"A sonic screwdriver; guaranteed to get you out of any circumstance, unless said circumstance involves wood.”

"We have actually time travelled." Sherlock muses. 

"You don't even know if it worked." the Doctor chirps back at him.

"I assure you that I can detect a ruse before the con artist opens their mouth."

"It really is astonishing how smart you think you are."

"I never brag, I simply am."

"You are something else Shirley Temple." the Doctor smirks at him, before walking down the corridor to grab some clothes for her new found companions. As she rummages through stacks of clothes, she can hear Sherlock talking to John.

"This is extraordinary!" 

"You've already said that."

"Are you ill John?"

"I think I'm a little TARDIS-sick, you know? Like car-sickness?" John deadpans, trying to see if humor will combat his nausea. 

"Was that sarcasm?" Sherlock is not amused. 

"Yes." John pauses, "Promise that you didn't drug me with anything? You have a tendency to do that."

"Absolutely not! I only drug you for experiments, and there was certainly no indication that we would be traveling in a time machine today. Though I do think it may be interesting to see the effects of using several types of narcotics, a few substances of the hallucinogenic group, etc., whilst navigating the time-space continuum. But no, John, you are just nauseated. Surely, you can tell your own symptoms, you are, after all, a doctor. But now I am intrigued, perhaps a couple of experiments in this TARDIS, would be interesting, I am sure that they would only produce a few side effects to your person."

"You're entire discrepancy towards my health and safety is most refreshing Sherlock." 

"You're in a mood today John."

"Gee. I wonder why."

The Doctor walks back into the main area of the TARDIS with two sets of suits.

"What is that?" John asks wearily, looking around for a place to sit, and finding none.

"Clothes. You'll stick out like a sore thumb if you walk out of the TARDIS dressed like that."

"Aren't we already sticking out because we're in a bloody police box from the 1960s?" John rubs his temples and decides to sit down a ledge.

"You'd be surprised what people do and do not notice."

"What time period are we in?" Sherlock interjects, coming over to her and taking a set of clothes.

"Deduce." the Doctor challenges.

"The clothes are made out of fine material, and there are many types of garments to dress in before one is deemed presentable. There seems to be an white shirt with a stiff collar. There is an ascot to wear around one's neck and a pair of trousers that reach down to one's shoes. The waistcoat is colored and patterned, along with the final pieces of the puzzle which is this heavy overcoat and deerstalker hat-though you have given John a proper top hat, most likely to reveal that his profession represents that of an middle-upper class socio-economic group. Really, Doctor, it is quite simple to figure out when we are."

"You do realize you don't need that many words, right? But I have a feeling you like to hear the sound of your own voice.”

“You are making me sound incredible conceited and overzealous.”

“Is it my fault that you present yourself in that manner?” the Doctor pauses, letting her words sink in. “Now, why don't you just tell me your guess?”

"I never guess; I hypothesis." He says with a huff. 

"Well then, what do you hypothesis?"

"The year is 1885."

"Off by four. The year is 1889, and we are in London." she grins at a wide-eyed Sherlock who obviously isn’t wrong a lot, and give John a set of clothes.  
After a few moments, they're changed and standing under a streetlight in the snow. The Doctor locks the TARDIS, and place the key around her neck.

"Well gentlemen, where to first?

"Royal Albert Hall." John states. He's gained some color back into his face and looks very dashing standing in the winter night.

"Any objections?" the Doctor looks at Sherlock, who is fiddling with his hat.

“No objections, an Ice Carnival would be an amusing diversion.” Sherlock points to a poster on the side of a lamp post.

"Well then. Let's be off. Tally-ho!" the Doctor motions for them to follow as we trudge down the sidewalk.

They can hear the skidding of ice skates and laughter as we get closer to the Hall. John has a bounce in his step and Sherlock is soaking in everything. They start to turn the corner when a man collides into them, and sending his top hat flying into the street. The Doctor dashs to pick it up out of the snow, and as she comes back towards John and Sherlock, the man is muttering a thousand apologies.

"Sorry, sorry, sorry. Gentlemen and lady. I was in a great hurry!" he takes his hat back from the Doctor.

"A hurry to where?" the Doctor asks.

"Eyford."

"Why on earth are you going to Eyford at this time of night?" John interjects. He blushes at his outburst, and backs up to stand beside Sherlock.

"I've got an assignment, Mr..." the man trails off.

"Watson. John Watson. Dr. John Watson." John blushes again as it takes him three tries he announces his title to the stranger. 

"Pleasure, Dr. Watson. And you sir?" the man gestures to Sherlock, and sticks out his hand for Sherlock to shake.

"Sherlock Holmes. Consulting detective." Sherlock gingerly takes the man’s hand in his own, but gives it a firm shake.

"Interesting, Mr. Holmes-and you Madame?"

"I'm the Doctor-and what is your name sir?" the Doctor speeds through etiquette before he has a chance to question her further.

"Mr. W. B. Yeats." 

"And what's your assignment, Mr. Yeats" the Doctor beams at him, trying to hide the fact that she is a huge fan of his literary prowess. 

"I have a position within Strand Magazine. My editor has asked me to write a piece on hydraulic stamping. When I told one of my colleagues about this assignment, he spoke of a place in Eyford where a Colonel Lysander Stark is using the technology to mine fuller's earth. I of course asked for an introduction to meet Colonel Stark, and my colleague most graciously secured an appointment for me to meet Colonel Stark this evening. Having secured the appointment, I took it upon myself to research the components of hydraulic stamping, so as not to be bothersome to Colonel Stark during the tour of his facilities. But imagine my surprise when I came upon a column in the newspaper that contained the most extraordinary coincidence in Eyford. But, as a man of knowledge, I do not believe in coincidences, and so the mystery grew..."

"Mystery? What mystery?" Sherlock interjects himself between Yeats and the Doctor.

"Do you not read the papers Detective Holmes? Mr. Jeremiah Hayling, an intelligent engineer, as I am told, rode out to Eyford last month. Alas, he has not been seen since, but when the police conducted their interviews with the inhabitants of Eyford, none of them could remember having seen the gentlemen at all! I fear he met some horrid end while on assignment."

"Was he going to Colonel Stark's home in Eyford?" Sherlock carefully asks, looking as if he is trying to read Yeats's expression.

"Well my good sir that is the only logical explanation!"

"Did your friend tell you about Colonel Stark’s personality?" the Doctor presses.

"My colleague stated that the Colonel is a miserable man, whose face is gaunt and unpleasant, but the description of the Colonel's character was not what aroused my suspicion.. But, that is what a writer must find out: the truth!" There’s a moment of silence between all of us, before I move to stand beside Yeats.

"We're coming with you Mr. Yeats." the Doctor exclaims, "There's more than enough evidence to show that the Colonel had something to do with Mr. Hayling's disappearance.

"My dear lady..." Mr. Yeats stammers.

"Don't "my dear lady" me, Mr. Yeats. You're going straight into danger, and my colleagues and I do enjoy a good mystery." the Doctor loops her right arm around his left elbow.

"What if it is dangerous Ms...Doctor." he pauses as if he is trying to understand why a woman is just "the Doctor".

"I've been in danger before. It isn't that bad once you get over the preliminary fear."

"I do not know you all."

"And yet you have told us your name, your business for the evening, and of a mysterious disappearance."

"I believe I am a good judge of character Ms. Doctor."

"That may be so, Mr. Yeats, but I think it has something more to do with the fact that you are utterly terrified. Let us go with you, I promise that uncovering the perpetrator of Mr. Hayling’s disappearance is going to be a much more interesting expose than hydraulic stamping."

"Well then.” Yeats pauses, assessing the situation, “ Let us be off. We will have to drive to Paddington to catch the train and then we must change stations at Reading. If all goes well, we will probably arrive at Eyfrod around midnight."

"Very good Mr. Yeats." Sherlock says straightening his coat.

"You will not be getting much sleep tonight Mr. Holmes."

"That will be fine Mr. Yeats. Considering that I never sleep."  
_________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________  
Yeats looks a little annoyed by the time we get to a waiting cab. Sherlock has taken it upon himself to pass judgment upon each and every thing in the street.

They hail a carriage and begin to make their way to Paddingfoot. The journey is quiet as they travel, punctured only by the sounds of an excited Sherlock pointing things out to John, who looks like he'd rather be sleeping.

"Don't worry John. I'll take you right back to 5 o'clock on the day you first found the TARDIS. You won't miss any sleep." the Doctor reaches out and squeezes his arm reassuringly.

"Good to know." John rubs his eyes, “goodness knows I need it.”

“That’s why I told you to get ear plugs. Babies are notorious for their noise.” Sherlock sniffs.

“Babies?” I ask.

“A baby, Mary and I’s baby-Bethany.” John can't help smiling. 

“How old is she?” I ask.

“Two. She looks exactly like her mother, and is exceptional for her age.” Sherlock spews out the information before John can form a syllable. 

“Sherlock is also an exceptionally proud uncle.” John adds.

"What is a TARDIS?" interjects Yeats.

"TARDIS. Time and Relative Dimensions in Space." the Doctor states.

"You mean...like...a...traveler among time?" Yeats says his question as if he is trying to taste each word on his tongue.

The Doctor smiles at him.

"This is turning into the most peculiar night!" Yeats chirps.

"You just believe her?" Sherlock questions Yeats. 

"Yes. There are some things in this world that cannot be explained using just science Mr. Holmes. Science is comprised of math, experimentation, and hope. And without the hope, well, I doubt that we should have achieved the things we have dared to dream of. So yes, Mr. Holmes, I do believe what Madam Doctor says."

"Actually you can just call me the Doctor." the Doctor places a reassuring hand on Yeats's arm.

"There is also the fact that you speak with some of the worst grammar I have ever heard. What is to account for that travesty?”

"The education system.” John's states as we arrive at the train station. We pay out fare to the cabbie, and board a train to Reading. The journey is brief, and the car we are sitting in is comfortable and war. A porter brings us some sandwiches and checks our tickets.

"We'll need a cover story to get into the farm at Eyford." the Doctor states after we finish eating.

"Why?" asks Yeats, wiping the crumbs from his face with a white napkin.

"So as not to arouse suspicion; if these people are responsible for the disappearance of Mr. Hayling then there's no telling what they might do to us." the Doctor intends these words to serve as a warning, but one look at John and Sherlock tells her that they are sickeningly excited to face whatever danger lies near.

"I'll just say that I've brought a team from the Strand to take some photographs." says Yeats.

"Wouldn't they search us for the equipment?" John asks.

"I highly doubt that will occur. Colonel Stark does not seem the type to draw questions to himself, as ordering a search would do. Also, I doubt that he would meet us at the train station. He is a wealthy gentleman, and I think he will send a servant to come and fetch us at the station." Yeats says confidently, before ordering another round of sandwiches.

Sure enough, Yeats's prediction rings true, and a valet meets them at the station. The carriage is small and a little cramped, but Yeats is excitedly taking notes about the night's adventures thus far. As the carriage speeds along, Yeats opens the window and asks the driver how long the drive to the estate will take. Seven, is the reply, but as the wheels continue to churn it seems to be much longer than seven.

Then carriage then abruptly stops, and they are ushered out. In front of us, is a charming Neo-Baroque style house. The door to the house opens, and a very unpleasant looking man beckons us inside.

"Colonel Lysander Stark, I presume?" the Doctor arches her right eyebrow and , extends her hand for him to shake.

"Indeed Madam." the Colonel has a deep German accent, looks upset at the arrival of more guests than planned, and pointedly ignores her outstretched hand. "If you would be so kind to go to parlor and sit." he motions toward a door at their left. 

We step into the room, and after the Colonel shuts the door, begin to look for clues. I use the sonic to analyze anything I can get my hands on, while Sherlock rattles off everything he can deduce about the house. The sonic screwdriver is about to tell me what trace it has picked up, when the door flies open to the room. A young woman with a sprinkling of freckles under hard green eyes and brown hair tied in a bun looks frantically around the room.

"Leave, go, please!" she cries out, taking a hold of Yeats's collar and pulling him towards her. Her English is peppered with a German accent and her eyes are fearful as they dart across the room.

"Let's calm down," John says walking over to the hysterical woman and gently taking her elbow in his hand, "I'll ask Colonel Stark to bring some tea."

The woman jerks her elbow away from him and turned to face the group. She presses her hands together like she is praying and then, she whispers, "It is almost too late! Leave now! Please!" She looks at their faces, and realizes they have no intention of leaving. Her face fills with despair, and then she leaves the room as quickly as she had come in.

"Mr. Yeats, I don't think you'll be getting that story on hydraulic stamping tonight." the Doctor purses her lips together and pulls out the sonic screwdriver to read the trace from the mantle.

"Thank God." she hears Yeats mutter.

"How peculiar." the Doctor mutters, turning her attention back to the trace.

"What is it?" Sherlock asks pointing a finger at the screwdriver.

"A clue, but now is not the time to state it. We'll have to wait for the appropriate time." she replies and Sherlock juts out his lower lip in some form of a pout. She takes pity on him; "Sherlock, look at the mantel piece." she directs him, pulling him out of his pouting. 

After a few moments, she looks over at Sherlock who seems to be in a trance of some sort. Worried that he seems to be taking longer than what is apparently usual to spew out observances, she looks at John, and gestures towards Sherlock.

"Preliminary theories; he's deducing." John clarifies.

"I know that he deduces. Does he spew out the information when he's done?"

"Yes, but he's not done yet."

"Well he had better hurry up. Somebody's coming." She lowers her voice as footsteps get closer to the parlor.

"Your accent changed again. How it is doing that?" John asks.

"That's a long story, and right now, I don't think it's a good time to tell it." the Doctor barely gets the sentence out before the door opens, and they behold Colonel Stark in all his gloomy horror.

"Many apologies for the inconvenience, Mr. Yeats and company; I was looking for my secretary, Mr. Ferguson." Colonel Stark moves out of the door frame to show a short man with a double chin behind him.

They all exchange pleasantries before the Colonel, now holding a lantern, ushers them out of the parlor.

"We'll need to put our coats back on to go see the machine" Yeats states, "The air is very nippy tonight."

"Oh no, my good sir-the machine is in the house." Colonel Stark replies, leading us down a corridor to the back of the house. 

"You're digging fuller's earth up in your house?" Yeats gasps.

"Oh no, Madam, the machine in the house is what we use to compress it!" Colonel Stark laughs nervously, as he takes a key out of his pocket, and opens a door in the back of the house.

The Doctor exchanges a glance with Sherlock as Colonel Stark is fiddling with the lock. Something is very wrong, and she can feel the hairs on the back of her neck stand up as she remembers the woman's warning. Colonel Stark opens the door, puts the lantern on the floor, and they enter into a tiny room: the heart of the hydraulic press.

"This is where we compress the fuller's earth." Colonel Stark says gesturing to the unmoving parts.

"It looks like something is wrong with the mechanics." John observes, grazing his finger over some gears.

"The engineer was supposed to be out here today, but he was delayed by the snow." Colonel Stark dismisses John's comment and continues to tell them about the hydraulic press and how fuller's earth will be the power of the future.

"Really? Because there is no indication of fuller’s earth in this room at all.” the Doctor snaps.

“We pride ourselves in keeping our facilities clean, Madam.” Colonel Stark replies.

“Then why is there three millimeters of dust on the gears?” John questions. 

“It is too dangerous to clean the gears…” the Colonel tries to explain, but Sherlock cuts him off.

"Just how stupid do you think we are?" Sherlock challenges right before Colonel Stark leads them out of the room. Colonel Stark's face pales and he grasps the doorknob as if he is trying to will strength from it.

"Whatever do you mean sir?" the Colonel’s voice is tight. 

"Your cough, particles are in your lungs, but fuller's earth has bigger particles than what you're working with. Then there's the woman. Her skin is dirty, and her eyes are irritated. Then there's the fact that you don't have electricity in this house. Why would a hydraulic press need so much power, that you couldn't wire your home? Why would you need such big coiners to mine fuller's earth? And lastly, look at the substance on John's finger. The same substance on the mantelpiece of the fireplace you would have us believe is dust The substance is not fuller's earth or dust, is it Colonel Stark? It's amalgam, and you're using it to make counterfeit coins!" Sherlock's voice rings out in the silent room.

Colonel Stark is breathing heavily, and his face is changing colors; from blue, to red, to purple, to deathly white.

"Aren't you a clever one?" Colonel Stark hisses. He turns the doorknob and jaunts out of the room, slamming the door. They hear the lock click before any of them can reach the door.

Then, the machine turns on. And the gears slowly begin to turn down to where they are trapped.

“Next time, wait until we’re out of a death trap, before telling a desperate killer that we're on to him!” the Doctor hisses at Sherlock.

The gears of the press are slowly moving down and spinning and the Doctor knows that if they don't get out of here soon they'll end up a pulpy mess.

"Oh God!" cries Yeats beating upon the door.

"Doctor!" shouts John, "can't you use that screwdriver thingy to open the door?"

"No, it doesn’t work on wood!” she shouts, searching for an escape hatch.

“What do you mean it doesn’t work on wood?” John bellows.

“Precisely what that implies!” the Doctor's sarcasm mounts as she looks for something to jam the gears with. 

“Then I’ll just shoot down the door!” John reaches on the inside of his jacket.

“No! You’re not just going to shoot down the door! The bullet could ricochet and we could be worse off than we already are!” the Doctor grabs John's arm.

“How could this possible get worse?” John retorts.

“John Watson. I don’t like guns and you are not going to like the consequences if you pull yours out.” the Doctor furrows her brow and John feels very afraid.

"Well I frankly don't want to die having a squabble about how to break down the door!" Sherlock shouts, joining Yeats in his attempt to break down the door.

The Doctor sinks to the floor, and notices a square in the wall with light coming from the outside. It's an escape hatch. She kicks it open and shouts for the others to hurry, as the gears are right over their heads. John and Sherlock grab a hysterical Yeats and throw him through the door. Sherlock then forces John to go before him. Sherlock starts to turn to the Doctor to let her go before him, but she doesn't give him the chance. She grabs his shoulder and pushes him through the opening. She then gathers her skirts and dive through the door, landing on John, who is trying to stand up, and knocking him down. The gears hit the floor a few seconds after. They lay in the hallway, trying to catch their breaths as Yeats murmurs some prayers of thanksgiving. The Doctor get up and brush herself off, and turns towards John.

"Sorry I landed on you." the Doctor apologizes to John.

"Well, we were about to be pulverized…” John lets a hint a smile out

"You seem very calm considering the fact we were almost crushed to death." the Doctor grins.

"Being around Sherlock, means meeting death on a daily basis." John lets the smile through.

"I would hardly call it a daily basis." Sherlock interjects, getting to his feet and brushing the dust off his clothes.

"Fine then. Once a week." replies John, helping a trembling Yeats to his feet.

"Well, I must say Doctor, that was quite the adventure." Yeats says. The color is coming back into his cheeks, and by some miracle he has managed to hold on to his notebook.

"It isn't over yet. We still have to get out of here." the Doctor states. Suddenly, a shadow appears at the end of the hallway. The Doctor sees John make a move to his pocket, but she grabs his arm to stop him.

"I told you I don't like guns." she hisses as the shadow grows bigger, there is a moment of tension, but she breathes a sigh of relief when the woman from downstairs comes into view.

"Hurry! They will be back to see if you died!" she motions for them to follow her, and they take off running down the corridor. As they reach the end of the corridor, they can hear the voices of the Colonel and Ferguson shouting. Footsteps draw closer, and the door at the other end of the hallway opens. The Colonel is standing in the hallway, chest heaving, and a look of madness on his face. In his right hand, he brandishes an axe and charges down the hallway toward them.

They don't stick around to see what will happen when the Colonel reaches the end of the hallway, and all run in different directions. Sherlock and John find an open door and run through, while Yeats follows the woman into another room. The Doctor takes off running down the hallway, looking for an exit. She finds a staircase, dashes down it and through a door into the cold night air.

As soon as she gets into the garden, she sees Sherlock and John standing by some bushes catching their breath.

"Where's Yeats?" she cries, running up to them. John's face goes sheet-white and he looks back at the house trying to get some words to come out of his mouth.

"I thought he was with you!" John finally says.

"No, he followed the woman into a room." the Doctor looks vaguely fearful, right before a piercing cry of pain shatters the stillness of the evening. They run as fast as they can to the source of the cry, and there by the side of the house, is an unconscious Yeats. Ferguson and the woman are tending to him. This time, John does pull out his gun, and points it at Ferguson, much to the Doctor's chagrin.

"Stand up. Put your hands where I can see them." John says evenly. Ferguson slowly gets to his feet, and turns around to face John.

"I must beseech you Dr. Watson. You do not have much time, for Colonel Stark is a man with a great temper and he has drawn blood this evening. He will not cease this chase until you are all dead."

"What do you mean by 'he has drawn blood'?" John says the words slowly.

The Doctor kneels on the ground to get a closer look at Yeats, and to her horror, a pool of blood is spreading under his left hand.

The Doctor immediately springs into action, ripping off a layer of petticoat to staunch the bleeding. The woman gasps at her action, and mutters something about how unladylike women are becoming.

"What happened?" the Doctor asks her, ripping off more layers of petticoat, as Yeats's wound refuses to be staunched.

"We enter the room," the woman begins in her broken English, "I tell him that it is short drop to ground if he goes through window. But Colonel Stark is very quick and comes into room right as he is about to jump from the window. Colonel Stark raises axe and chops off thumb, right as he jumps."

"I'd hate to see what he does when he actually has a valid reason to be angry." the Doctor snarls

"You're an American?" Ferguson tilts his head in confusion. John rolls his eyes at Ferguson's remark, puts his gun back in its place, and begins to help me stop Yeats's bleeding.

"Is there a carriage, or something we could to transport this man? I particularly do not want to be cut up by an axe this early in the morning." Sherlock says.

"Does that happen a lot to you?" I jest.

"More than you think." the reply from Sherlock is cold but there is a slight hint of humor behind his seriousness.

John has managed to stop Yeats's bleeding, and the author is beginning to come to. He cries out in pain when he is awake enough to feel the throbbing where his thumb used to be.

"A thousand apologies Mr. Yeats, for I had not thought the Colonel to be a man of such rash and violent nature." Mr. Ferguson twiddles his thumbs. 

"Then how, Mr. Ferguson, do you explain the disappearance of Mr. Jeremiah Hayling? For it seems to me that Mr. Hayling was an unfortunate victim of Colonel Stark's grievous desire to keep his crimes secret." Yeats says, as John and the Doctor help him to his feet. Yeats is pale and unsteady on his feet, so the Doctor puts her left arm around his waist to balance him.

"Mr. Yeats, I tell you God's truth when I say that I have not met a Mr. Hayling. The Colonel spoke to me last month saying that he had a man coming out to inspect the machine. He did not share the man's name with me, choosing to keep that information in confidence. However, I was away on business and did not return until the twenty- third of November. I asked the Colonel if the man had come to see the machine, and the Colonel said that the man had, and had fixed the power source to the machine. Therefore I did not press the subject, for I had no reason to suspect that Colonel Stark had a murderous mind."

"Or you failed to see the disturbed earth on your daily walks in the garden." Sherlock snarls, pointing to a patch of disturbed ground highlighted by the moonlight. Mr. Ferguson opens his mouth to reply, but is cut off by the woman.

"No time! No time for this! You must leave now! The valet is out and ready. Go now!" she says, grabbing the Doctor's arm and pulling.

John and the Doctor help Yeats stagger to the waiting carriage. Yeats looks as if he is going to pass out again by the time he is sitting in the carriage. Sherlock and John climb into the carriage, and keep a sharp lookout for the crazed Colonel. The Doctor stays on the ground and takes the woman's hand into her.

"Thank you." the Doctor smiles at her.

"There is a Chief Inspector in London, no?" she asks.

"We'll get him out here as fast as we can." the Doctor promises.

"Thank you, Doctor." She squeezes my hand, and I climb into the carriage, and we speed off.

The drive is too long, and John keeps checking Yeats's pulse and looks worried as the amount of blood that's beginning to seep through the cloth. When they arrive at the train station, the station master lets them use the couch in his office to wait for the train. John changes the dressing on the wound and makes Yeats drink some brandy. After Yeats finishes his drink, John joins Sherlock and the station master to recount the night's events, leaving Yeats and the Doctor to talk.

"We were lucky tonight, weren't we Doctor?" Yeats uses his good hand to squeeze mine.

"I am often surprised at the behavior of humans." the Doctor squeezes his hand reassuringly.

"Humans..." Yeats mutters, his mind churning over her choice of words, "you're not human are you Doctor?"

"Not entirely." the Doctor winks at Yeats.

"My God, what a night this has been. To think I would have been murdered by a horrid fein had I not literally run into you in the street. Then to be saved by the goodness of the heart of a woman and the conscience of a man: yes, I think that my thumb is worth this adventure. I shall endeavor to write it all down." Yeats laughs.  
_________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________  
The journey back to London is uneventful, and by the time they arrive at the police station, Yeats is the picture of health beside the fact that he is missing a phalange.

The Chief of the Police orders them some tea and breakfast even though it is four o'clock in the morning. He listens intently to their story, and orders a warrant for Colonel Stark and Mr. Ferguson's arrest. He is inclined to arrest the woman, but they beseech him not to, as she saved their lives.

"There were reports of strange occurrences happening in Eyford. Some spoke of how secretive Colonel Stark was, they believed him to be of false character. Our suspicions were most aroused when we received a complaint from a resident stating that a foul metallic smell was permeating the air in Eyford. As you know, fuller's earth does not produce such a smell. However, we were most unfortunate as to not have enough evidence to link Colonel Stark to an international gang of amalgam makers! But I am most aggrieved at the way in which this evidence was collected. Mr. Yeats I offer you the most sympathies as to your lost appendage, and promise you that Colonel Stark will be arraigned in Her Majesty's Court." The Inspector stands up, and takes four policemen with him to Eyford.

They stay at the police station waiting for news, and around seven-thirty in the morning, the weary Inspector and his men come back. The Inspector takes off his hat and coat, and walks slowly over to them, with a look of defeat on his face.

"The house belonging to Colonel Stark has burned down." he says.

"What?" John shouts jumping to his feet.

"There is nothing left of the counterfeiters' layer. The firemen deduce that a lantern was left in the heart of the machine, and some careless person turned the machine on without checking to see if any obstructs where on the way."

"Do you really mean no traces whatsoever?" the Doctor asks.

"I am deeply sorry Madam, but the only lead we have is that early this morning a farmer saw a carriage with two men and a woman in it. We may only assume that it is Colonel Stark and company."

"Well that sucks." the Doctor says huffily.

"Sucks..." Yeats is confused by choice of words.

"I'm upset." the Doctor sighs.

"Sherlock perhaps we could..." John begins. 

"I'm afraid they are gone John. If we had Internet, maps, weather patterns, visas, the whole lot then perhaps we could find Colonel Stark. But we can't, the case is over. Closed." Sherlock's voice is soft and upset. There's a moment of silence between them.

"But at least it was a good adventure! And the woman and Mr. Ferguson are alive." the Doctor says, "Well come on! There isn't any use moping around in 1889. Not when all of time and space is waiting at your fingertips!" she brandishes the sonic screwdriver in the air, and walk over to Yeats.

"It was a pleasure to meet you Mr. W. B. Yeats," she squeezes his good hand, "I hope your writing is incredibly successful."

"The pleasure, my dear Doctor, is all mine. You saved me, and gave me the story of a lifetime. Is this Adieu or Au revoir?"

"I never say ‘Adieu’ Mr. Yeats. I’m a time-traveler, remember?”

Yeats laughs, and the Doctor takes the opportunity to open up a container she went back to the TARDIS for. A golden light surrounds W.B. Yeats thumb-less hand and within moments, Yeats’ hand regains its thumb.

“How…?”

“Nanogenes. I kept some for instances just like this.”  
“Kept?”

“There was an incident: a war, a man in an overcoat, and many attempts at dancing.” the Doctor smiles at the bittersweet memory.

Yeats laughs, grabs her left hand and kisses it, “Thank you Doctor!”

“Au revior, Mr. Yeats.” she smiles at him, and motions for John and Sherlock to follow her out of Great Scotland Yard. Soon, they're back in the TARDIS, and John and Sherlock change into their present day clothes. The Doctor sets the coordinates for present day London in to the TARDIS, pulls the levers and punchs the buttons.

"We never made it to Royal Albert Hall!” she gasps right as they take off.

"It's okay, promise." says John, "I've honestly had enough excitement for today." he chuckles softly.

"Will you be up for tomorrow?" the Doctor raises her left eyebrow.

"That depends if we have a case." Sherlock states from across the room.

"Did you fail to hear the part about the TARDIS being a time machine? If your case starts at ten o'clock in the morning, I can bring you back by nine fifty-nine." the Doctor hands Sherlock a piece of paper with her phone number on it, and opens the TARDIS door to a 21st century night in London.

John can hardly wait to get out of the TARDIS, but Sherlock takes a little longer.

"Promise you will come tomorrow?" his voice is loud and steady but there's a slight vulnerability in his eyes. The Doctor decides that, in spite of his arrogance, she genuinely likes him.

"I'm leaving for tomorrow, right now."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you all caught the reference to "The Doctor Dances" (the second part of "The Empty Child"). Also, in trying to stay historically accurate, Scotland Yard is referred to as Great Scotland Yard. Scotland Yard would change its name to New Scotland Yard the following year, 1890.


End file.
